Some of her patients had parenting problems more than they had medical problems, but Dr. Simian didn’t say that out loud as she took Mrs. Monkey’s call . . .
We pulled into our parking space at 9:38am. Yes, we were technically eight minutes late. But I’d managed to dress and feed four hungry tiny people, wrestle them into car seats, and drive here. Eight minutes late was a win.
There is a boy with dark brown hair . . .
“Mommy, can we go to McDonald’s?” Hazel asked in her piping voice. . . .
I woke up at 1:00 a.m., when Jimmy had a bad dream, and at 3:45, when Sarah peed in her bed, and when my alarm went off at seven I got up and stepped on a lego and by mistake Jimmy got toothpaste on my last clean pair of pants, and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, really crappy day . . .
First of all, lemme say that Big Ted’s my man. He always gives me a tight cut, and he’s cool, you know, funny. Got that educated-like slang. (Apparently he did a lot of reading in the joint . . .)
As a five-year-old, I didn’t know how poor we were. We had just moved to Manhattan and knew no one in the city . . .
Desperate for adult conversation, I volunteer as a room mom. I’m teamed up with Victoria, whose twins are Drew and Cameron. Victoria’s high maintenance, but she’s fine with the fact that Deshy has two mommies.
Victoria asks if the twins can come over for a playdate while she shops for the day. Deshy has been to their house—now it’s our turn. He’s not thrilled when I tell him . . .